


Wistful Thinking

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Breaking Up & Making Up, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4861343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. "Why do you get to lead?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wistful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so etchy about posting this, but I feel like I owe you guys some writing. Hnn. 
> 
> Wrote this in my Econ class, so it's probably not my best work, but hey. I did the best I could. It's been a while since I've written anything--let alone from Mark's perspective--so I may be a tad rusty. Trying to get adjusted back to school so I can get back into the swing of things. So more writing soon?
> 
> Also the last part of "The Frequency of Heartbeats" series is done, I just have to finish editing. Sorry that's taken so long, I'll try to have it up this weekend!
> 
> This fic was written to "Love Love Love" by Of Monsters and Men. 
> 
> Anyway, do enjoy, hopefully.

Bright blue eyes meet his own brown ones across the room.

Mark breaks the gaze after a beat, loosening his tie as he drifts closer to the edge of the dance floor. He feels out of place, in a way—whilst all of the people around him are familiar, their faces calling forth memories in his mind, he hasn’t seen any of them in years. It’s been a while.

Truth be told, he shouldn’t be here. It’s not his place. He’d been given an invitation to the wedding out of the kindness of two souls who’d known him in college, not because he remained close with them. He hadn’t even made it to the main event, only showing now for the reception. It makes him feel out of sorts.

Speaking of the happy couple, Mark finds them dancing together, wrapped in each other’s arms as if they’ll never let go. Felix’s fingers lace with Marzia’s perfectly, his other hand tucked carefully around her waist. Marzia’s head rests against his shoulder, her free arm around his waist in turn. They sway gently to the beat, the low melody that hums in the background, and a surge of happiness sprouts in him—they had always been good together. Mark’s glad they’ve made it this far. He knows they’ll be good together.

He hasn’t spoken to them, yet. Hasn’t even let them know he’s in town. He had never stated whether or not he’d be coming—though he had sent a quick email, letting them know he may or may not show. Mark has always been fickle with his schedule, and they understand. He’s grateful.

Mark tears his gaze from them, feeling the intensity of blue eyes on him again. When he looks up, however, the owner of the gorgeous blues leave him, carefully looking down into his drink instead. But Mark knows.

His heartbeat thrums in his ears as he lets out a soft sigh, before retightening his tie. He gives himself a quick look over before making his way across the dance floor, weaving in and out of bystanders before finally, finally facing him.

Sean—Jack—McLoughlin stares back, almost as if surprised to see him, really see him, standing in front of him. He watches him swallow, running his fingers over the rim of his glass. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes tell the entire story.

With shaking fingers, Mark offers out a hand. Jack looks at it blankly, unmoving. Mark whispers, “May I have this dance?”

The muscles in Jack’s jaw clenches, just briefly. Then it loosens. After a few moments of contemplation, Mark thinks he’d ought to pull his hand away, but then Jack sets his glass down on a nearby table, and with a gentle touch, takes his hand. Mark squeezes, before leading him out. Their fingers interlock, and Mark places his hand at his waist. Jack’s hand goes to his shoulder.

“Why do you get to lead?” he asks, a gentle note of teasing in his words.

“I learned a few things in my travels,” Mark supplies, not missing the way that Jack tenses a fraction. “Would you prefer to switch?”

“No, this is fine,” Jack replies, the softness of his tone replaced with something more neutral. “Just…lead me, I guess.”

He does. Mark counts in his head, Jack following every step with ease. He’s much lighter and more graceful of his feet than Mark remembers—he supposes three years can change a person. He sways to the tune, perfectly in time with his every movement, his grip on Mark tight, as if he’s fearful to let go. Perhaps he is.

Mark licks his lips, murmuring, “Sean, I—”

“Jack,” Jack corrects him, his voice easy. There’s no trace of bitterness. “We’re far beyond calling me by my given name, aren’t we?”

“Jack,” Mark amends, and the name sounds so familiar on his tongue, almost sweet. It makes him smile, unconsciously. But then he frowns. “Jack, I—I didn’t expect…to see you here.”

They continue to dance. Jack doesn’t speak at first, then, “It’s Felix’s wedding. Like I was going to miss that. We’re—we’re best friends, you know? He’s my best friend, and you know, I—I was part of the wedding. Best man.”

“Right,” Mark mumbles. “Of course. Of course you were. I only just rolled into town, popped by for the reception, to congratulate the happy couple, you know.”

_To see you_ is unspoken, but Mark hopes he hears it. Jack hums in response, not giving a direct answer. For another three beats, no words are exchanged, only the melody washing over them.

Mark bites his lip. “I—I’m so sorry, Jack.”

Jack nods, and remains quiet, as if digesting the words. His grip on Mark’s hand loosens, but Mark squeezes, as if holding on, as if begging, pleading. “Jack--”

“ _No_ ,” Jack hisses. Then he lets out a sigh, breathless. He closes his eyes. “No, Mark. Please. _Please_ don’t.” 

“Okay,” Mark says, cutting his words short. “I won’t.” 

Apparently, it isn’t the answer he’s looking for, given from the way that he scoffs. But he doesn’t elaborate further, so Mark just keeps dancing with him, reveling in how this is the closest they’ve been together in so long. He cherishes it. 

Mark takes a moment to recognize how handsome Jack is in a suit, all dolled up, pristine in order--it’s unlike him, truly, but yet it suits him all the same. Even though it’s the reception, hardly a hair is out of place, as though he wants to appear perfect. For Felix, no doubt. 

What a good friend he is. 

The song passes, but Jack makes no move to let go, so Mark doesn’t argue. He keeps holding him, continues to count steps in his head, until eventually they stop moving altogether. Only their hips move, rocking side to side, on the edge of the dance floor, unbothered. 

Jack says, so low Mark wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t been right next to him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight, either. Felix...didn’t tell me.”

There’s a sourness to his tone. Mark tells him, “I didn’t think I would be, either. I told Felix it was uncertain whether or not I would show. I...landed here a few hours ago. Dressed up real fast, made my way down. Didn’t make the wedding, as you saw. Probably why he didn’t tell you.” 

“Should’ve warned me,” Jack mumbles, shaking his head. 

“Would you have not come if you had known?” 

“How bad of a friend do you think I am?” Jack barks, harsher than he intends, given the way he recoils just after he speaks. Then, softer, he says, “I may...or may not have just gotten drunk, is all.” 

“Is seeing me that bad?”

“Mark, don’t.” 

Mark sighs. “I’ve been thinking about you.” 

“I said _don’t_ ,” Jack tells him, beginning to pull away. Mark holds him tight. “Mark--” 

“Please, Jack, I know you’re angry, but--” 

“Angry doesn’t cover what I feel for you,” Jack spits. His voice is deliberately soft, though, deliberately calm. Mark is almost frightened by the quivering anger that radiates from him. “Angry doesn’t cover the ache that I felt when I woke up that morning and you were gone, the bed cold from you having left hours, fuckin’ _hours_ before I would ever wake up. Angry doesn’t cover the loss, the bitterness I’m still feeling because you broke it off with me _in a note_ , telling me that you didn’t want me to be tied down to a man running around the world.” 

Mark swallows. His throat feels dry. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Is there anything to say to that? He tries, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But you did,” Jack’s voice is flat, monotone. “You didn’t even give me a choice.”

They’ve drifted from the floor to the sidelines, their conversation in a hush. A few glances are stolen their way, but most pay attention to the bride and groom, the new husband and wife, as they should. 

“What else could I have done?” Mark says. “You wouldn’t have been happy. I would have always been away. We wouldn’t have been able to be together. I didn’t want to put you through that. I wanted--I wanted what was best for you.”

“But I _loved_ you,” the use of the past tense makes him cringe. “It wasn’t your choice to make. It was mine. And you took it from me. You wanted what was best for me but you didn’t even _talk_ to me about it. You did it all yourself and that’s not _fair_.” 

Jack’s words hit him like daggers. Mark closes his eyes, ashamed. He finally lets go of him, and Jack pulls away. Mark expects him to leave, but he doesn’t. He stands there, rooted to his spot, trembling.

“What are you even doing here?” he whispers, and for the first time, he seems upset, his voice cracking. “You’re not one of us anymore. You left us. You left me. It’s stupid of you to just show up again because you’ll be gone in a week--”

“I’m staying,” Mark blurts out, and bright blue eyes meet his once again. A flash of hope crosses, but then it vanishes, softens, as Mark says again, “I’m...I’m staying this time. I’ve seen enough of the world to satisfy me for the rest of my life. Anywhere else I want to travel I...I’ll write about.” 

It’s been no secret to anyone Mark’s ever met that he wanted to be a writer growing up. His insatiable desire to see the world overpowered his desire to write a fraction, and it isn’t as though he can’t do both. And here he is now. He’s got tons of material to write about, tons of inspiration, infinite worlds to develop and create. He can stay. 

He wants to. For himself.

_For Jack._

“I see,” Jack says, so calm again that Mark almost wants to throttle him. Almost. “That’s--”

“For you,” Mark tells him, wanting Jack to believe him more than anything. “I want...I’m sorry. It’s so--it’s so selfish of me, but I knew that if I never asked, I would never forgive myself. You have no reason to, and I have no right to ask, but...I love you, Jack. I love you. You’re all I could think about in _three years_. The blue sky above Florence reminded me of your eyes, the cloudy skies of London reminded me of your streaked, greying hair. I couldn’t even _go_ to Ireland without thinking of your absolutely endearing accent. I want to--I want to try again, with you. If you’ll--if you’ll take me back.” 

Mark hasn’t thought this through. He realizes this as Jack pales, all color draining from his face. It isn’t an impossible thought to assume that Jack’s been dating other people, that he’s in a relationship now, that he may not even love him anymore. The thought breaks his heart. 

Jack tucks his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing at the skin, as he always does when he’s nervous. It’s good to see he hasn’t changed as much as Mark feared. 

“You can’t just--” Jack begins, his voice choked, uncertain, and unsteady. “You can’t just walk back into my life like this, Mark. You can’t run the _fuck_ away for _years_ and then--and then ask me--” 

“I know it’s selfish, but I had to try,” Mark pleads, reaching out for him. Jack doesn’t recoil, but he doesn’t go to him. “I love you, Jack. I love _you_ , Sean McLoughlin.” 

“Stop,” Jack whispers, shaking his head. He pushes Mark’s hands away. “Stop, Mark--”

Mark quickly grasps his fingers in his. He laces their fingers together, and he thinks he may hear Jack whimper, but he can’t be sure. “But I do, I do love you, Jack--” 

“Stop,” he spits, harsher. “ _Stop_.” 

“If it’s because you don’t love me anymore then just say so--” 

“It’s because I _do_!” 

He stills. His blue eyes widen, as if unbelieving he’d truly uttered the words. Mark glances around and a few of the guests are staring, mostly given Jack’s outburst, but after a few beats of silence, they return to their normal activity. Jack’s looked away by this point, gazing down at his shoes, their fingers still hanging loosely together. 

“Jack,” Mark tries, once more. He lets his name hang there, between them, prompting him. “Jack.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Jack mumbles, weary. He allows Mark to pull him into a gentle embrace. “What do you want me to say?” 

Another slow song starts up in the background, and carefully Jack returns the embrace, wrapping his arms around him in turn. They sway slowly, almost lazily, as if nothing really matters. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Mark says, and Jack buries his face in his shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

“Okay,” Jack replies. “Let’s just...stay like this for a bit.” 

The notion is more than okay with Mark.

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback, as always, is appreciated.
> 
> Hit me up at: galaxyghosty.tumblr.com


End file.
